


Fever

by Zanbaby



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Aftercare, Anal, Ass to Mouth, Banter, Biting, Body Modification, Body Worship, Bottom Julian Devorak, Caretaking, Comfort, Crying, Dom/sub, Fever Dreams, Flirting, Fluff, Gen, Gender-neutral Reader, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Masochism, Medical Kink, Naked Cuddling, Nipple Play, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Romance, Scratching, Sex Magic, Sickfic, Smut, Submissive Julian Devorak, Teasing, Tenderness, belly bulge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:40:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22185760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zanbaby/pseuds/Zanbaby
Summary: Your dear doctor is feeling under the weather and he isn't coping so well with it, fortunately you have more than a few tricks up your sleeve to help him achieve a speedy recovery~
Relationships: Julian Devorak/Reader
Comments: 6
Kudos: 241





	1. Chapter 1

You notice upon returning to the shop that the curtains upstairs are still drawn, and a smile graces your face with the knowledge that Julian hasn’t stirred while you were out.

He’d caught you leaving, but he was far too tired and delirious to fully understand what you’d told him. The gentle tone with which you’d given him the information was enough to put him at ease, though.

You shrug your coat off at the door and carry it through to the little entryway into your living space, glancing over at Malak who, much like his master, is deeply asleep. 

In your bag you carry several mason jars of soup; fresh and homemade by the best cook in Vesuvia.

Mazelinka had asked how Julian was, of course, but she seemed more than confident in your care-taking skills and showed not even a hint of intention in intercepting you by coming over. 

You’d noticed that about her early on though. 

It seemed odd at first that she was so quick to put her faith in someone else looking after her honorary grandson; you’d have thought she’d be more protective, but then... she’d had a good feeling about you from the start, and as you know, her instincts are as sure as the sun. 

You realise now that all she really wanted was to see Julian putting his faith in others and learning to ask for help as well as accept it, and you won’t deny, with the progress Julian’s made, she was right to entrust him to you. 

You smile to yourself as you’re putting away the rest of the soup, still thinking about your discussion with Mazelinka.

Knowing what you know about the Devoraks and their youth, it’s really quite a compliment to your character that the old captain feels the way she does about you. After all, not many can say they get on so well with their in-laws.

Your attention is drawn to slight movement upstairs just as you’re pouring one of the jars into a bowl; he can probably smell it, you think with a smirk.

You take it upstairs on a tray so Julian can eat in bed, and in the hopes that his appetite might be growing, you’ve brought some bread on the side to help fill him up.

“Hello, trouble,” you croon, taking a seat by his bedside and setting the tray down on the cabinet.

“My love,” Julian greets you with bleary warmth, his tired eyes smiling as your outline comes into focus. “Where did you go?” he asks.

“I went to Mazelinka to get your soup, I told you that,” you gently remind.

It’s not his fault it slipped his recollection though, poor Julian has been down with a fever for a couple of days now.

It had started as a creeping cold; he’d been dabbing his dripping nose on the back of his sleeve and trying to hide the sniffling at first, but you’d caught on fast, and you know Julian and his self-sacrificing ways.

“I’m fine, I’m a doctor!” he’d proclaimed with that smug grin on his face before proceeding to sneeze three times in a row.

“Exactly, and a sick doctor is going to have even sicker patients if he carries on treating them in such poor health himself,” you’d reasoned as you held a handkerchief to his nose for him.

That, of course, was impossible to argue with, and Julian had retired to bed for the rest of the afternoon.

It seems that wasn’t soon enough though, because he still got sick, but the best thing for it is to simply let it run its course and see that he rests. 

Naturally, the first night when he’d admitted to feeling feverish he’d attempted to convince you to stay away from him.

At which point you’d been lying in bed beside him, rubbing his chest for about an hour already.

“I appreciate the company, my darling,” he’d said dutifully, “but if you hang around me you’ll get sick too.”

You’d smiled at that and leant in to kiss him, just to prove a point.

“I won’t get sick,” you’d assured him, and the relief in Julian’s face to know he didn’t have to be without you made your heart melt.

“Right, of course...” he’d agreed, remembering your immunity to the Achilles heel of mortals, and promptly snuggling up to you for warmth.

You help him to sit up now by stuffing all four pillows behind his back and then set the tray down in his lap.

“Here, drink your orange juice first,” you instruct him, the ice-cubes clinking as you hand him the tall glass. “You need some vitamin C or you’ll get scurvy.” 

Julian wishes he possessed the cogency to make a joke about that; something revolving around pirates, but you’re right, so he simply does as the doctor orders. 

You press a hand to his forehead as you take the glass out of his way once he’s had sufficient. Just from touch alone you can tell his temperature hasn’t decreased. The poor lamb is still burning up. 

He sighs with a soft moan when you use magic to ice your hands a little and cover his ears. They’re red as his right eye, but the soothing nature of your cold touch dissuades his discomfort for a little while. 

“That feels amazing~” he sighs with a keening sound of sheer contentment. “Oh, sweet reprieve from my suffering,” the dramatic redhead laments. 

“You certainly make a better doctor than you do a patient, huh, fusspot?” you tease affectionately.

Julian offers a weak laugh; genuine, but frail.

“It seems _you_ just make a better doctor full stop,” he says a little dolefully.

“And here I thought I was too scathing to have a bedside manner~” you play along. 

Julian chuckles again, closing his eyes as he takes your nearest hand and gives it a squeeze.

“No... if anything you’re too patient, and very attentive,” he remarks.

“Only for my little bird,” you purr, your lips curling in a catlike grin that has poor Julian’s already flushed face heating up even more. 

“Hm, l-little bird,” he echoes, a warm wave of security swelling out under his ribs. 

After so long of denying himself the love and affection he’d spent the better part of his life craving, it only feels more fulfilling now to hear such tender, affirming things... and from the person he gives his heart and soul to, no less. 

“Eat your soup, silly Illy,” you smile fondly, kissing his forehead as you get up to open the curtains and let a little fresh air in to help his wheezy lungs. 

Julian picks up his spoon, but as he catches sight of you heading toward the stairs, he decides he doesn’t want to be left and makes a pathetic sound, dropping the silverware on the floor.

“Can’t,” he whimpers, slumping helplessly when you glance over at him. “Too weak~”

You don’t buy it, obviously, and you let him know that with a roll of your eyes... yet you’re still returning to his side, trying to suppress a smirk when you see how he immediately perks up again with his victory.

“Needy boy,” you teasingly chastise, earning a view of his horsey incisors as Julian bites his lip, feeling duly reprimanded and loving it. “Open up,” you prompt him as you bring the spoon to his mouth.

Julian obediently does so, his eyes looking a little glazed and his brow a little furrowed as if it’s already starting to dawn on him that he’s only gone and backed himself into a kinky corner by asking for this.

You watch him like a hawk and say very little, but your quiet and devilish lips betray the nature of your actions with a subdued quirk to them.

Julian can scarcely look at you as he accepts one spoonful after the other, his eyes nervously darting to the side and then averting their gaze almost immediately.

He offers the occasional squeak of a laugh any time he realises you caught him looking, but tensions only continue to rise until he’s visibly sweating from sheer nervousness. 

However, this is good. The more Julian sweats, the quicker his fever will burn out. 

He winces as he swallows the very last mouthful, and his breath comes out shaky and laced with a soft moan.

“Well done,” you purr, leaning in to tuck a stray straggle of auburn hair out of his face. “You finished a whole meal,” you commend in that low and sultry voice, brushing your lips against his ear.

Julian shrugs his shoulders up, tickled by the close proximity and feather-lightness of your touch. He’s gripping the sheets around his crotch, too, lifting them away from him in a vain attempt to hide a rather prominent bulge.

“But you know, Doctor Devorak...” you coo, feeling his whole body go taut and the hairs on his neck rise, “if you worked up a sweat just from that much, I’m inclined to believe you’re a tad more vanilla than you let on~”

A cuss carries on the relieved exhale that leaves his lips when you retreat, grinning like a Cheshire cat as you remove the tray from his lap and head to the stairs with no objections this time.

“Are you going to have a nap now, little bird?” you suggest more than enquire.

Julian nods dumbly, his eyes still wide and a little watery with bewilderment.

It’s cruel to leave him knowing what he’s hiding under the covers; knowing the reaction you caused between his legs, but letting him sweat it out will do him good, so you abandon the fleeting sense of guilt and replace it with smugness as you head back downstairs. 

You deduce that his fever is starting to reach its zenith by the fact that Julian sleeps all day and only ever stirs when you go up to wake him.

He’s uneasy on his feet whenever he answers that he needs the toilet, so you help him there unflinchingly and then tuck him back into bed afterwards.

At least a third of your check-ins result in Julian drowsily asking for you to stay. You’ve told him stories and sung to him, fed him enough soup to supply an army and kept him hydrated throughout the day, but he fluctuates; perky one hour then barely able to grasp enough consciousness to sit up the next.

His poor little body is really going through the wars, but you don’t doubt that at least having you to nurse him through it is providing him some much needed comfort. 

“My love,” he rasps at you after his last dose of Mazelinka’s soup, “I think I’m dying...”

He’s being performative, but you sense an inkling of genuine fear within the statement. 

He may be a doctor, but he’s human, too, and not only that, but there’s the addition of Julian’s history of struggling to accept his vulnerability... being sick is frightening for him, even when he’s in good hands. 

You offer him a serene smile, reassurance radiating from your calm eyes as you hold his hand and kiss his palm before leaning your head into it.

“You won’t die, darling,” you hush him. “You’re not allowed to, and I _obviously_ won’t let you.”

He matches your smirk, his tired eyes twinkling briefly as he relaxes under your gentle gaze.

“I love you,” he murmurs. 

You jerk your head back a little and widen your eyes in mock surprise.

“Oh my, perhaps you _are_ dying,” you say with a worried inclination. “Is that fever-talk or do you see a light?” you maintain, feeling his forehead again.

Julian huffs a sarcastic laugh, but the glimmer in his eyes only reignites; entertained affection blossoming in his chest as he realises he’s only ever going to fall more and more in love with you.

“I’m serious,” he states, raising his eyebrows and tilting his head toward you a little before giving your hand a lightly berating shake. “Smarty pants,” he scoffs, “when did you become a better comedian than me anyway?”

“Oh, hmm,” you pretend to ponder, “when did we meet?”

Julian bares his teeth in a half-smirk-half-sneer and hisses a begrudging laugh.

“Ohoho, okay, alright, I see how it is,” he gripes, but even with that expression he can’t hide the fiery glee in his eyes. If there’s one thing Julian loves more than your dry wit, it’s when you outmatch him with it.

But his love is so earnest that he’d concede any title of his to you, really. You could best him left right and centre, and all he’d ever be was proud. 

Your smug grin transforms seamlessly into a soft smile again, and you gently brush the same stray coil of red hair from his face.

“You’re looking weary, little love,” you observe.

Julian huffs a laugh, his brow creasing in honesty.

“I’m downright exhausted,” he sighs in disbelief, “this being sick business is tiring work.”

You offer him a sympathetic pout and help him to get comfortable again by fluffing his pillows for him.

“Keep resting, sweet pea,” you soothe, kissing his warm forehead and transferring a little magic from your lips to help him sleep. “And just shout if you need anything.”

Julian nods his assurance that he will, but his eyelids are already slipping shut, and a sweet, peaceful smile stays on his lips. 


	2. Chapter 2

It’s been a couple of hours, but you’re keen to any sounds from upstairs, and you’re already primed to go up there and check on him even before he starts making noise. 

“Julian,” you tut, a note of affection in your tone when you reach the top of the stairs and see his long limbs sprawled; hapless and ungainly as he tries to get out of his perceived struggle.

He moans and whimpers like a snared animal, squirming around trying to get free of the sheets he’s become entangled in.

“Mh! They’ve got me, th-they’ve got me!” he cries in a pitifully small, delirious voice, clearly of the belief that his entrapment in the blankets is something more dire. 

“Stay still, sweetheart, let me help you,” you lightly chide. 

Julian _does_ still, too. The minute he hears your voice he’s looking for it in his dream, and he calls out to you hopefully.

“Right here, darling,” you hush, putting a cool hand on his ruddy cheek to comfort him. “There you are, you’re free,” you then tell him, straightening the covers out so that he’s no longer being smothered by his duvet.

He opens his eyes, his brow furrowed in confusion as he starts to recognise reality and realise where he is.

“Love?” he murmurs.

“Hi, trouble,” you croon, stroking his hair tenderly. “You’re alright now.”

Poor Julian looks no better for all his rest thanks to that presumably draining experience having sapped whatever energy he had, and when he finally inhabits his body again, he starts panting and wheezing.

“Too hot?” you assume, pulling the covers off him completely and starting to unbutton his shirt.

“Too hot, t-too hot,” Julian rasps, looking on the verge of passing out again as he rolls languidly onto his back and tries to breathe.

You help him out of his pyjamas, balling the garments up and using them to wipe some of the sweat off his body until he’s starting to breathe normally again.

“Close your eyes, sweetheart,” you encourage him with a soft hush. “I’ll be right back.”

Julian is too exhausted to react after that, and letting him lie naked for a few moments while you fetch a basin of cool water and a washcloth seems to alleviate some of his discomfort at first, but it’s not long before he’s whimpering and calling out for you again.

“Oh, sweetheart,” you tut, setting the basin down and going to his side as he makes needless, almost comical warbling sounds purely to lament his misery.

For a masochist he’s not handling this quite as you’d imagine, but you think better of saying that to him. He probably wouldn’t appreciate a joke right now when he’s this distressed.

Besides, even with his proclivity for being dramatic, if this is as far as his pain threshold goes then of course it’s going to feel worse for him, and really this isn’t _anything_ like the things you do to him in bed. 

_That_ pain isn’t indefinite; it can be stopped any time and administered in short, pleasurable doses. _This_ pain is an ongoing discomfort with no safe-word to make it stop. 

As if he can tell what’s going through your head in that moment, the words, “y-you must think I’m pathetic!” warble from his trembling lips.

“Of course not, sweetheart,” you offer him the reassuring white lie. “It’s frustrating for you being poorly, I know. If you need to cry it out then you cry all you like, little love.”

Seeing him like this, anyone would think that the good doctor has never actually been sick before, but while you know that’s not the case, you also know that Mazelinka didn’t like to coddle. She’s a practical woman, and while she has her soft tendencies, it’s unlikely she’d let Julian slip into such a, well, admittedly pathetic state.

You, on the other hand — though firm where you need to be — lean more in favour of making up for the years of touch-starved, affectionless misery that Julian suffered since being enlisted to work at the palace. 

That is to say, you spoil the hell out of him, and if retaining no sense of a stiff upper-lip is what Julian feels like doing right now, then by all means. He’s safe to let his guard down here, after all.

And if anything, the poor lamb is probably just overwhelmed to have the luxury of being _allowed_ to crumble and cry. 

The relief of no longer having to hide his pain, but to let someone else handle it for him is something poor Julian is ashamed to confess to having wanted for a long, long time, and he probably doesn’t know what to do with that freedom. 

He sobs like a baby though. Taking stuttering, heaving breaths as big, fat, crystalline tears — the ones welling in his right eye reflecting the crimson sclera — overfill and stream down his flushed cheeks. 

He wails your name even though he’s looking right at you, like that’s the best he can do in this state.

“I know, little treasure, I’m here,” you coo, holding his hand to your lips to kiss as you stroke his sweat-slicked curls back. “What do you need, hm?” you hush, “tell me how I can help you.”

Julian’s sobbing dwindles as his eyes search your face. The calmness of your words and the sympathy in your relaxed expression seem to placate him somewhat; as if they’re less the words of someone genuinely asking for an answer and more the words of a parent soothing their child.

His eyes fill up with tears again, but he doesn’t launch into sobs, just little hiccupping hitches of his breath as he attempts to speak.

“I’m sorry, I-I’m the worst patient in the world,” he whimpers, but there’s a growing hint of humour in his tone. “If I turned up at my clinic making such a fuss, why, I’d send me away.”

His smile breaks through finally; the overall look on his face is dampened and humble, but unmistakably, he’s smirking. 

“Little lamb,” you croon, wearing a sympathetic look yourself as you lean your cheek against his hand clasped in yours and reach over to tuck the covers around his naked body. “I won’t tell anyone what a baby you are,” you promise him with a wink.

That earns you a watery chuckle, and the distraction of chatting seems to have calmed him down at least.

You glance up at the clock then. It’s very late, but these past couple of days you’ve lost touch with your sense of time given that Julian’s fever doesn’t care for it and has no qualms waking him at two and three and four in the morning and intermittently throughout the day. 

“You need to hydrate, pumpkin,” you tell him, patting his hand briefly by means of informing him you’re going to get him something to drink.

“I wouldn’t mind, you know?” Julian says, slurring a little as his cheek is pressed into the pillow and he holds onto your hand until it’s slipping out of the reach of even his long fingers.

“What’s that, sweetheart?” you ask, halting on the stairs.

“If you told people what a baby I am,” he grins. “I wouldn’t mind, so long as you let them know how I had the best doctor in the whole world looking after me.” 

“Right,” you laugh, unconvinced but flattered nonetheless, before heading down to the kitchen to get him some more soup.

Six times a day Mazelinka had said, and you didn’t disagree. It’s better for Julian to eat little and often right now, and there’s _little_ else that will cure him anywhere near as faithfully as something homemade and so lovingly infused with green magic. 

You stay with him as he eats, but his hand is trembling so much that he’s tipped the whole spoonful back into the bowl by the time it reaches his lips.

It’s actually a little mournful to watch, but you steady his hand for him when he tries again, and this time Julian even manages to eat some bread with his meal too. 

“Good boy, well done,” you praise him, massaging him behind the ears to alleviate the uncomfortable fuzziness caused by his congestion.

Julian beams at the attention, letting out a grateful sound as he cants his head back into the pressure of your fingertips. 

You stay to pet him for a little while then, letting your magic seep into him and chase away all the dull aches in his body. 

“Poor little mite,” you murmur to yourself as you see him drifting off. 

You’re certain there’s more you could do; in fact you could probably cure his fever altogether if you had the time to actually sit down and research it, but Julian is admittedly a high-maintenance patient... in fact Julian is rather high-maintenance in general. 

The only times you _get_ any peace is when he’s at work, and even then he’ll be pushing his luck by dropping in between appointments just to talk to you.

It’s not to be despised though. Julian has never had a love like this; he just wants to be with you, and his addiction to your presence is, unlike his fever, not really something you’d particularly care to cure. 

Needy is nice, when it’s him. 

That being said, needy is _not_ nice when it’s driven by Julian being uncomfortable and unhappy. You hate seeing him suffer, he’s done enough of that, and you’d vowed to yourself that you’d ensure him a life of comfort.

With that thought, it then occurs to you that there’s another type of magic you’re very proficient at... and the procedure involved couldn’t be _more_ pleasant for Julian...

You remove the tray from his lap and set it down quietly so as not to disturb him, then carefully get into bed.

“Love, w-what are you doing?” Julian murmurs, his eyes opening blearily as he finds you shuffling under the covers and situating yourself between his sprawled out legs.

“I’m going to break your fever, sweetheart,” you hush him, rubbing his tummy soothingly.

“H-how?” he queries, his face already too red to see but his wide-eyed and bashful expression being enough to tell you he’s blushing. 

“By making you do that some more,” you smirk, alerting him to the rosiness that’s spread to his neck and chest. 

You kiss your way between his hips then, and Julian twists nervously, bringing his index finger up to bite as he watches you go down on him.

“My darling it—it really isn’t necessary for you to’ah~ oh~ oh, please~” he teeters off into a breathy whine when you lift a leg onto your shoulder and nip his inner-thigh.

“Make yourself comfortable, Doctor Devorak... I have a feeling this won’t take long~” you purr, casting your darkened eyes over him and feeling all the hairs on his body stand on end.

“Y-you’re wicked...” he huffs, already looking love-drunk and debauched. “You wicked, devious, silver-tongued little—oh good god!”

You can’t help but smirk at his reaction to having his balls cupped and lightly squeezed. It makes his toes curl and he throws his head back as he gasps through the sting of such a precarious state; held hostage by his most prized and personal affects. 

“Good manners now, dear doctor,” you croon, “this is for your benefit, after all~”

“Y-yes well, that may be, but I am certain it is also for your entertainment, hm?” he parries.

“I confess,” you wink, going down on him again and relishing the blissful gasp as your mouth closes dangerously around a portion of his lilywhite flesh and your teeth sink into him.

Julian has no stamina for being teased, though, and once you deem the insides of his thighs suitably marked — certain that they will last now too, given that he no longer has the curse — you catch him at his most relaxed, and lick a broad stripe up his half-hard cock.

Julian groans and arches his back, entangling his fingers with his hair to try and cease the thrumming of the fever in his head, but he knows he’s going to have to sweat it out before it abates.

“Love~” he whines, limp like a doll as you grip his milky thighs, propping them over your shoulders and using one of your now free hands to run up and down his belly, raking your nails along the skin, firm enough to leave red marks in your wake but not enough to draw blood.

“What’s the matter, pumpkin?” you say in a purposely pouty voice, “already hot and bothered, are you?”

Julian exhales a long, shaky lament as he succumbs to his light-headedness; he can’t tell what effects are due to the fever and what effects are due to you but — well, there is one aspect that he can discern as _solely_ your doing…

His cock sways with every drag of your nails, and you use the flat of your hand on the way back up to go against the grain of chestnut hair that meanders like a stream from the forest at his chest to the thicket between his thighs.

“Do you want something special, darling?” you purr, conceding your wicked ways for tonight and offering the good doctor a choice of something different.

“O-only if it _hurts_ ,” Julian pants.

Typical, you think with a roll of your eyes. You’re smirking though.

“Are you quite sure?” you entice, your other hand joining in as both snake up his torso and you pull his nipples.

“Ah! Yes! Please, more~” he cries.

“Ilya,” you deadpan. “I’m talking about magic, do you want me to use magic?”

“Magic?” Julian echoes, lifting his arm away from his face to look at you. “W-what would you do with magic?” he wonders, looking intrigued now as he props himself up on his elbows.

You grin devilishly, very glad he asked, and holding your middle and index finger up your lips in a V shape, you let a long, thick tongue unfurl between them.

If it was possible for Julian to blush any more you’re sure he would be, but an even better indicator of how he feels about the proposition is the fact his cock just sprung to near full-attention.

“O-oh~” he squeaks, offering you the most satisfying blend of terror and arousal in his expression.

You lean down then, and begin to circle a nipple with the tip of your elongated tongue, making Julian’s eyes roll back momentarily. You daresay his nipples are almost as sensitive as his frenulum.

His quick pulse and flushed, sweat-slick skin all react under your ministrations as you draw your tongue slowly like the body of a snake down his abdomen, feeling him _quiver_ and _tense_ and _keen_ at the sensation.

“Little bird,” you purr, pausing when you run out of body to lick.

“Y-yes? Yes, my love?” Julian huffs, arm over his eyes again is resignation as he simply submits himself to you and whatever desires you have for his body.

You say nothing more, letting the pause become pregnant, and just when Julian is about to look and ask what you’re waiting for; you push his legs apart even further and wind your tongue inside him.

Julian grunts at the sudden intrusion, his tummy crunching in the middle as he tenses and then throws his hands out to the side to grip the sheets with a sob of pleasure.

He watches for as long as he can manage to hold his weary head up, but stars are already dancing behind his eyes, and his head is throbbing with the thrum of his fever.

You repeatedly catch his prostate as you start to ripple your tongue like a wave inside him, and it’s all poor Julian can do anymore but to moan and wail deliriously as he bucks with each bolt of arousal.

You let your tongue keep extending inside him, too; you’ll know when it’s long enough.

“Oh that’s deep, darling~” Julian whimpers, his voice warbly and dramatic as he sweats buckets; the sheets beneath him already damp.

He might not have the wherewithal to really play his part and scream the house down as he normally likes to, but your plan sure as hell seems to be working.

You want to show him just how deep you are though, so you reach up for a sweaty hand to guide down to his belly, holding it there gently and then pushing your tongue up toward his palm from the inside.

Julian lifts his head with a start, vision wobbly but eyes wide as he sees the bump you’re making under the skin and a sound escapes him that could be described as… partway mortified and partway delighted, perhaps.

You snort a laugh and watch Julian feel the movement of you inside him for himself. It doesn’t take long for him to become besotted with the idea, and just when he looks like he’s about to pass out, you take his cock in hand and begin to stroke him toward completion.

“Love,” he lilts, “ah~ I’m so dizzy~ I’m—oh, I’m going to—I’m going to—!”

His words run out on him, and his breath, too; Julian goes silent, gawping like a fish out of water as his toes curl and his hole clenches around your tongue, and finally he cums with several stuttering spurts, shooting hot semen all over his belly.

He collapses back and his breath returns to him all at once, but he only takes a few desperate gasps before he taps out.

You reel your tongue back and drop the spell, wiping your mouth on the back of your hand before grabbing the towel you’d brought over earlier and rubbing Julian’s glistening body down.

“Poor Ilya,” you drawl, reaching up to brush his bangs out of his face, which are plastered to his forehead and nose with sweat, “aren’t I just the _meanest_ to you?” you smirk, knowing the Julian would never agree but only say, ‘not mean enough, my dear!’ no matter how you’d bullied him in bed.

You get out of bed then, discarding the towel you’d used to wipe his cum off with and fetching a pile of fresh ones from a hamper.

With some careful and delicate manoeuvring, you get the bigger ones spread out beneath him so that he doesn’t wake up lying in a damp patch of perspiration, and then you fetch a new basin of lukewarm water and take a perch beside him as before.

You hush him when a moan melts in his mouth, turning the cloth over to its coolest side after a little while of leaving it to soothe him, and Julian’s eyes eventually start to flicker.

His gaze finds you and he murmurs your name, taking a moment to recount how he ended up here and in such a bewildered state.

“There~” you coo, “does that just feel _so_ much better, sweetheart?”

“Ah,” Julian sighs, smiling when it all comes back to him; “a-actually,” he says with a slight frown, “it does… I-I feel quite a lot better!”

You ease him back down when he makes an attempt to sit up, clearly thinking that he’s completely cured.

“Your temperature will start to go back to normal now, darling, but you need to rest up for another day at least. Your body’s fighting a nasty virus so we want to give it the best chance we can at getting rid of it,” you explain.

Julian sinks into his barrage of pillows, gazing adoringly at you.

“Yes, doctor,” he sighs dreamily, “I’ll be good,” and actually, for once in his life, you don’t think he’s being droll.


End file.
